When Dorinda Dances

Chapter IV

Dorinda wore the same cool dress she had changed to after her first dance. Her short blond hair was windblown and her violet eyes were terrified. Her hands were tightly clasped together and she cried out, “Please, Mr. Shayne! You’ve got to help me. I know it’s horribly late, but it was my only chance to — to get away. If you’ll only listen to me—”

“There’s nothing I’d like better,” he assured her. He caught her tight little hands and drew her into the room, stepped past her, and glanced out in the corridor with interest, asked, “Are you alone?”

“Oh, yes! You mean Ricky? Golly, yes. If he knew I was here—”

Shayne closed the door firmly and threw on the extra latch. “What would he do if he knew you were here?” he asked when she stopped talking. He turned to see tears in her eyes. Her mouth was trembling, and she caught her lips between her fine white teeth. Shayne took her gently by the arm and led her to the deep chair that Timothy Rourke had drawn up close to the table and opposite the couch. “Sit down here. Make yourself comfortable and tell me all about it.” When she was seated, he went back to his place on the couch.

“I’ve been an awful fool,” she began. “I’m half crazy with shame — and I’m scared to death. If you’ll only h-help m-m-me.” She swayed sideways, folded her arms on the arm of the chair, and buried her face against them, sobbing convulsively.

“Of course I’ll help you, Dorinda. But crying won’t. You’re safe here, and everything is going to be all right.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket, reached across, and tucked it in her hand. She caught it and inched it up to her face, but she kept on crying. Occasionally she blew her nose, and after a long time she sat up.

“I’m not a crybaby, Mr. Shayne. I’m sorry.”

“Take your time,” he said hastily. “Would you like a drink to settle your nerves? A little sherry?”

“Oh no, thanks. I don’t drink. I’m all right now.” She bent toward him and said earnestly, “I’ve gotten myself into a horrible mess, and I was determined to get myself out of it without Mother and Father ever finding out about it.” She paused, staring at the nude photograph of herself propped against the lamp. “I’m not like that, Mr. Shayne. Not really. I nearly die every time I see one of them — and I’m terribly ashamed.”

Shayne glanced aside at the picture. “You haven’t anything to be ashamed of. And you did sign them, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I signed a lot of them, but that was back in the beginning. I thought I was being smart and sophisticated. But when you said what you did about Mother and Father tonight—” She stopped, and her lips began trembling, but after a moment she continued. “I’ve known it all the time — from the very first day — but I wanted to be a good sport, you see.”

“I don’t see very much yet,” said Shayne. He lit a cigarette and leaned back with his eyes half closed. “If I’m to be any help at all, I’ll have to know the truth this time.”

“That’s why I came. I don’t know anyone else in Miami, and after tonight, I just had to talk to someone.”

“Then you are Julia Lansdowne?”

“Yes. I thought you knew when you asked me tonight.”

“And your parents think you are visiting a college friend in Palm Beach during the spring vacation at Rollins?”

“Yes. She’s the only one who knows — and she doesn’t know all of it. Not the worst part.” Color flooded into her cheeks.

“You arranged with this friend to pretend you were visiting her while you slipped away to dance at La Roma?”

“Yes. I write to Mother and send the letters in a separate envelope. She sends them on to her.” She paused, and for a moment she looked down at her small white hands, clasping and unclasping them nervously. Suddenly she sat erect and lifted her head high. “Mr. Shayne, you said something about a Mrs. Davis, Mother’s best friend, coming to your office about me. Does that mean that Mother knows?”

Shayne nodded. “Your mother asked her to come down.”

“But I don’t know anyone by that name. I’ve thought and thought, and I can’t remember any Mrs. Davis.”

“She may have given me a false name,” said Shayne, “but you certainly must have recognized her last night at La Roma when she sat at a table near the stage and afterward sent a note back to you.”

Dorinda bit her lower lip, and a frown threaded her smooth brow. “I never really see anyone,” she told him, “and I didn’t get any note. There must be some mistake. Maybe it’s someone Mother knows, but I haven’t met. Or one of her friends who was a widow and married a Mr. Davis.”

“Mrs. Elbert H. Davis was engraved on the card she gave me,” said Shayne. He gave her a detailed description of the woman, and added, “She claimed to have known you all your life — said she was your mother’s best friend and was sure she had gained your complete confidence as you grew up.”

The frown in her forehead deepened. “I don’t know any woman like the one you described, Mr. Shayne. I just don’t understand it.”

Shayne shrugged. “I’m only telling you what she said. She offered me two thousand dollars belonging to your mother to get you away from La Roma without any publicity.”

The girl gasped audibly. “Two thousand dollars! How did Mother find out? And Father? Does he — know — too?” Her eyes were stark with terror and her face was white.

“Not yet.” He felt impelled to give her that assurance, but he had to get the truth from her and he couldn’t afford to ease up yet. He needed a drink, decided against drinking from the bottle, got up, and went into the kitchen.

He returned with a shot glass, filled it, drank it down, and sat down again. He didn’t speak immediately and he avoided looking at her directly. She looked like a child waiting for a promised whipping from a stern parent.

“Here’s the way I got it, Julia,” he finally said in an even tone. “Your mother received one of those pictures in the mail with an unsigned note that hinted at blackmail.”

“Mother — saw one of those?” she gasped. She turned in the chair and flung both arms on one arm of the chair and buried her face against them. “Oh, God!” she moaned. “I wish I were dead! It will kill Mother, and I don’t want to live.”

“Snap out of it, Julia. Mothers are more understanding than you think. The picture hasn’t killed her. On the contrary, she acted promptly to prevent your father from learning the truth. No matter who the mysterious Mrs. Davis may be, she has retained me to see that this thing is hushed up and the blackmailer dealt with. Sit up and tell me how you got mixed up in this mess.”

Julia lifted her head high and her eyes flashed defiantly. “Because I want to dance more than anything in the world. I was born to dance. And what happened? I was sent to stuffy private schools when I was little. I was taught to be a perfect lady. Well, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to dance. So I practiced in my room when everybody thought I was asleep.”

Shayne was staring at her. Seeing the fire in her eyes, he wondered why he hadn’t recognized her as the daughter of Nigel Lansdowne before, for he had seen the same fire of conviction and purpose in her father’s eyes. In newspaper photographs, in movie shorts, and television.

“But why La Roma?” Shayne asked gently. “Why risk the reputation of your father by dancing there?”

“It was just — just a lark,” she cut in sharply, but she turned her eyes away from his probing gaze.

“When did you meet Moran?”

“A couple of months ago. I spent a week-end in Fort Lauderdale with a girl I knew in school. She seemed to be nice and friendly, but she — well, she didn’t tell me her parents were away and we’d have the house to ourselves. It was a big estate, and I felt free for the first time in my life. The first afternoon I danced on the lawn and went swimming in the pool, then danced some more.

“I didn’t know until that evening she had invited two men she knew to spend the week-end with us. It seemed awfully grown-up, and I wasn’t afraid. I knew most of the facts of life, and I thought I could take care of myself — not do anything really wrong.” She paused, and once more she concentrated upon lacing her slender fingers together, opening them, lacing them again.

“And?” Shayne prompted her.

“Ricky was my partner,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Ricky Moran?”

She nodded. “He was nice — at first. He told me about New York and Hollywood. He knew all the actors and actresses, and the dancers. He told me he was an impresario, and — well, I was terribly excited. I thought he could help me get started on the stage.

“I guess I sort of went overboard that first evening. I don’t smoke, but when they offered me a cigarette I took one. It seemed wicked and exciting. I didn’t know there was marijuana in them, and the next day they all said that you couldn’t smoke marijuana without knowing it. But — I didn’t.”

“That’s easy to believe,” said Shayne. “What happened?”

“Well, Sandra brought the record player out on the terrace. It was a beautiful night with a full moon, and we danced on the grass. At first, we pretended it was a big party and Ricky and Sam tagged Sandra and me — you know, changing partners every few minutes. After a while we stopped dancing. The others had drinks. I don’t drink, but I did smoke another cigarette.” She paused, seemingly unable to finish her story.

“You can tell me anything, Julia. I know what marijuana can do.”

“You do?” She widened her violet eyes at him. “It made me into a person that wasn’t me at all. I took off all my clothes and started dancing. I was floating in the air, and my body didn’t mean anything at all. I felt exultant — and freed from everything on the earth. I kept reaching up, and floating toward the moon.

“Then — Ricky was dancing with me. He’s a good dancer, and at first I didn’t realize that he had taken off his clothes, too. Then he tried to — Well, it was horrible, and it brought me back to my senses. I remember screaming and running to my room. I locked the door and ran to the bathroom. I was horribly nauseated for a long time.

“The next morning they all raved about my dancing and said I ought to go on the stage. They said I should take any job I could get for experience, and that I was bound to become a Hollywood star. I — well, I just swallowed it all. The spring vacation was the only chance I would have, and Ricky said he could get me an engagement in Miami. They all dared me, and I agreed to let him be my manager if he could get me a job.”

“And you signed a contract with him?”

Julia nodded her head absently. “He had one typed up and I signed it before I went back to school. I didn’t read it, and when I came here to take this job I found out it was for three years and he was to collect all the money. That’s why he acts the way he does. He knows he owns me, body and soul, and he’s afraid for me to talk to anybody because he thinks I might ask them for help.”

“No contract like that is worth a damn,” Shayne snapped. “Besides, you’re only eighteen.”

“I didn’t think it was, either,” she said. “I decided to see a lawyer when I found out I had to dance — without any clothes of any kind. Then he threatened me, and I didn’t know what to do. There was Father in Washington, and Mother who has been ill, and I was afraid of what he might do. I found out he wasn’t anything but a cheap booking agent for second-class night clubs. I felt trapped. I didn’t know anybody here. I was all alone with him, and he acted terrible.” She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook with dry sobs.

“That’s all over now,” Shayne told her. “You won’t have to see him again. How did he threaten you?”

She kept her face covered with her hands and said in a choked voice, “He had a picture of me that the other man snapped with a flash camera that night in Fort Lauderdale — of us dancing together like I said. I didn’t even know they’d snapped a picture. It showed my face, but not his. Just a man’s — naked body. He threatened to send it to my parents unless I did what he said.”

A muscle twitched in Shayne’s cheek, and his eyes were bleak. He said curtly, “So you went ahead and danced at La Roma?”

“Yes.” She lifted her head defiantly. “But not — the other. We have separate apartments, and I lock my door every night. I told him I’d kill myself if he insisted on anything else, and he — I guess he was afraid I would.”

“Let’s get back to last night and Mrs. Davis,” said Shayne casually.

“I don’t know any Mrs. Davis,” she vowed. “If any friend of Mother’s was there, I didn’t see her. I try not to see anyone when I’m dancing. I pretend I’m alone in the moonlight.”

“What about the note she sent backstage?” he demanded grimly. “And the singer she asked about you?”

“Honestly, Mr. Shayne, no one gave me a note. And if anyone asked Billie for me, she didn’t tell me about it.”

Shayne frowned and tugged at his left ear lobe. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was well past four o’clock. He growled, “I think we’d better settle this Mrs. Davis angle right now.” He went to the telephone and asked the operator to get the Waldorf Towers. When they answered, he asked for Mrs. Elbert Davis, listened to the phone ring a dozen times, and interrupted the hotel operator when she began, “I’m sorry, sir—”

“Do me a favor, please,” he said swiftly. “This is Michael Shayne. I left an important message in Mrs. Davis’s box earlier in the evening. Please see if my note is still there.”

He drummed impatiently on the desk until the operator reported, “Yes sir. A note signed by you is still in her box.”

Shayne said, “Thanks,” and hung up, shaking his red head angrily. He returned to the couch, sat down wearily, and said, “I don’t know what the score is. Right now, Mrs. Davis seems to have vanished in thin air.” He hesitated, then asked, “Is there any chance that Moran was around the club last night and heard her asking for you? Could he have intercepted the note she sent back — and told Billie Love she wasn’t to talk about you?”

Julia’s face was pale from fright. “I suppose he could have done that. He stays around most of the time. You saw how he was about me talking to you.”

Shayne nodded grimly. “He had plenty of reason for keeping you away from people.”

“Mr. Shayne!” she cried. “Do you think he found out where she’s staying — and did something to her?”

“What do you think?” he asked bluntly. “You know him better than I do.”

“He’s vicious, and greedy for money. But I don’t see—” Her voice faltered, and a puzzled frown puckered her brow. “What good would it do him? I had agreed to finish my engagement — one more week. And he was keeping all my salary except bare living-expenses.”

“You’re forgetting the photograph that was mailed to your mother.”

“Do you think Ricky did that?”

“Who else? Who else knew your real name? Why wouldn’t it be a natural for Moran? Have you discovered any traits in his character that make you feel he wouldn’t blackmail your parents?”

“No. I — oh, I’ve been an awful fool,” she said miserably, and a big tear spilled from each eye.

Shayne didn’t contradict her. He settled back and sipped cognac and let her cry.

Presently she dried her eyes and asked timidly, “If Ricky did send the picture, and if he saw some friend of Mother’s inquiring about me last night, what would he be likely to do?”

“I don’t know,” said Shayne sourly. “He may have followed her to her hotel — and then when I came around to talk to you last night he could have gotten the wind up and decided he preferred to deal with a woman rather than with me. That is, if he knew who I was.”

“Oh, he did,” she exclaimed fervently. “That’s why I slipped away and came to you. He was terribly angry after you left La Roma, and told me a lot about you. That’s when I made up my mind I’d see you.”

“Did he stay at the club after I left?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “He was waiting for me when I finished my last number and went out.”

Shayne’s thoughts were racing in circles. There was that sixteen hundred dollars Mrs. Davis had in cash. There was his stop with Rourke at the Daily News and the drive to Farrell’s — which might have given Moran time to get from La Roma to the Waldorf Towers ahead of him when he left the note.

He came to his feet abruptly and asked, “Do you think Moran had any suspicion that you were coming here tonight?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure he didn’t. I went in my own apartment just as though I was going to bed, and waited a few minutes until he went in. Then I slipped out and down the back stairs and came straight here.”

“How did you know my address?”

“The taxi driver knew where to bring me.”

Shayne said, “I want to have a talk with Moran. You’d better stay right here.”

He was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

For the second time since three o’clock he hurried to answer it, expecting to hear Mrs. Davis’s voice, and for the second time he was disappointed.

The desk clerk said, “There’s a man here who wants your room number, Mr. Shayne,” in a low, hurried voice. “He offered me twenty bucks for the information without announcing him — and another twenty if I’d tell him whether you had a girl up there. He didn’t get either one.”

“Thanks, Dick. What name?”

“He won’t give a name, but says it’s important.”

Shayne said, “Describe him.”

Dick described Ricky Moran in a couple of dozen well-chosen words.

Shayne said, “Tell him I’ll see him in a few minutes, Dick, but don’t give him my number until I call you back.” He hung up and turned to Julia.

“Your boy friend is downstairs and wants to see you,” he said in a harsh tone.